


Screenshot

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Other, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley shouldn't believe everything he reads on the internet... should he?Based on a Tumblr post.





	Screenshot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MellowFishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowFishie/gifts).

> So I saw this Tumblr post and couldn't resist: <https://divinekinshootpoosts.tumblr.com/post/179246915673/if-you-touch-an-angels-wing-and-halo-at-the-same>
> 
> This is partly a peace offering to MellowFishie (should you want it - if not let me know and I'll ungift, no questions asked) because I posted angst that prompted an 'oh nooooo' earlier and, er, there's more of that where that came from. So here is some fluff. Enjoy.

Crowley has his mobile telephone in his hand, scrolling aimlessly down one of the many ‘apps’ he claims credit for inventing. Aziraphale, sat on the end of the bed, honestly doubts he’s had anything to do with most of them, but he certainly enjoys them. His favourite - at least, for demonic work - is something to do with birds, but that’s not the one he’s on right now; the reflection in his glasses is the wrong colour. It’s still blue, but a darker blue. None of which matters right now.

“Crowley, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Well, you can’t go to bed without spending a while scrolling, can you?” The demon looks up at him, apparently realising his mistake. “Well. I mean, of course _ you _can.”

“Yes. And so can you. I don’t mind sitting up here with you until you drift off-” Crowley had made the request in an unusual moment of vulnerability the previous week, admitting that he’d had a nightmare about the shop burning down and would find it easier to sleep if he just knew that Aziraphale was there, and safe. Aziraphale had miracled up a bed in his flat and told Crowley to get in, which he had done with a minimum of lewd jokes. “-but I do wish you’d actually _ go to sleep_.”

“Sorry state of affairs, when the demon Crowley is in your bed and all you want him to do is sleep.” But Crowley’s not even really paying attention to what he’s saying; within seconds, he’s spotted a post that makes him laugh and is turning to show Aziraphale. “Ha! See this one! It says if you touch an angel’s wing and halo at the same time, they take a screenshot.”

“What? That’s preposterous. Angels don’t _take _shots.”

“I know at least one who’s taken a tequila shot,” Crowley tells him, “but you must know what a screenshot is.”

“To do with guns?” Aziraphale guesses, and Crowley groans dramatically. It’s very distracting, the noise he makes, and so is the way he pats the mattress beside him until Aziraphale moves to prop himself against the headboard, then shuffles closer to show Aziraphale the phone.

“No, look. If you press this button- and this button- at the same time…” He demonstrates, and the screen flickers. “It saves a picture of whatever’s on the screen.”

“Oh. Well, angels don’t do that. That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, now.” Crowley’s expression means trouble; it sends a sort of anxious heat flooding through Aziraphale’s body.

The demon shifts position, sinuous as a snake, to lie on his side and prop himself up on an elbow, looking at Aziraphale.

“Angel. Will you show me your wings?”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re-”

“And your halo. I just want to see you as you were, at the Beginning.”

“Well, my halo’s never been very bright, Gabriel always teased me abo-”

“Please, angel.” And no demon should be able to pull off such an innocent, pleading expression, but Crowley does, and Aziraphale’s wings unfold before he can think to stop them. With a sigh, he pulls his halo into the physical plane, too, just hoping that it’s not the sort of divine manifestation that can actually harm Crowley. The demon, though, just takes his glasses off and sets them aside, as if to make things fair.

“And your wings,” Aziraphale barters, and Crowley seems to understand his thought process without hesitation, as he so often does. He unfurls his wings and gives them a little shake.

“Happy?” Aziraphale nods. He does so love to see Crowley’s eyes, and his wings. It feels as though the demon is showing him something of his true self - which is ridiculous, because Crowley is _ always _true to himself. It’s one of the perks of not being bound by Heavenly convention - and one that Aziraphale himself hasn’t really found the courage to take advantage of yet. “Trust me?” That’s alarming.

“Crowley, why-” The demon’s eyes dull a little, disappointed, and Aziraphale changes tack. “Of course I _ trust _you, but why?”

“I want to try something.” Slowly, carefully, he lifts a hand to brush the top of Aziraphale’s wing. Aziraphale feels a frisson of excitement pass all the way down his radius and into his spine. Where it goes after that, he’d rather not think. Then Crowley’s other hand touches the crown of his head, fingers toying with Aziraphale’s curls.

Everything suddenly seems to come into sharp focus; Crowley is so close, _ so close _ , and they are lying together in Aziraphale’s bed, and Crowley’s hands are on him. One of Aziraphale’s hands is on Crowley’s hip, and he’s not sure when or how it got there. And Crowley’s eyes, those beautiful yellow-gold eyes that Aziraphale could so easily get lost in… They’re fixed on _ him _ , on his face, his eyes, his lips - and Aziraphale realises that this is an important moment. This is a sight that he will want to remember for millennia to come, even if it all ends in tears, because Crowley is so breathtakingly beautiful and so very open and Aziraphale can see eternity in his eyes. He feels his pupils dilate, committing every detail to memory, and has to suppress a chuckle. _ Taking a screenshot, indeed. _

And then he surges forwards, bumps his nose against Crowley’s, asking for permission and granting it in return all at once. And Crowley makes a desperate, utterly _ sinful _noise before moving to meet him, pressing their lips together and burying his fingers deeper in Aziraphale’s feathers, in his hair. Aziraphale is the one to pull Crowley closer, hauling his hip across the mattress until their bodies are flush against one another. Neither of them are making an Effort, right now, as far as Aziraphale can tell, but it feels good to be so close.

“Angel?” Crowley sounds breathless, utterly wrecked as he breaks the kiss for a moment, “this all right?”

“Mm. It was, until you stopped.”

“Yeah, sorry, just, er…” His eyes are roaming Aziraphale’s face; Aziraphale recognises the hyperfocus because he’s just been experiencing it himself.

“Taking a screenshot?” He offers gently, and Crowley laughs.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Then he pulls him back in, and Aziraphale goes gladly.


End file.
